Symbiosis
by Elendraug
Summary: You get only what you give back. - AU. What if Wikus had made it to the mothership with Christopher and CJ?
1. I

District 9. gen. spoilers for the movie. R. characters belong to Neill Blomkamp.

**Symbiosis**.

_You get only what you give back._

-

-

I.

"No. We stick together."

Christopher's insistence unearths a primal determination to _survive_ that Wikus immediately harnesses. The bipedal robotic suit is breaking apart the more he forces it to cooperate, its warning signals frantically flashing at him and reflecting in his mismatched irises. He wills himself to urge the machine forward, upward, for one final race to their destination: the mothership.

Wikus meets Christopher's panicked gaze and nods, his anger and adrenaline pushing him further than he ever thought possible.

"Right. Let's go, if we hurry we can--"

A deafening, whistling screech makes the rest of his statement inaudible; Wikus turns to see Koobus Venter firing an RPG towards the both of them. Furious, Wikus feels the suit enhances his reflexes, enabling to snatch it out of the air, diverting it somewhere (relatively) harmless.

"Fuck you!" Wikus shouts, voice amplified by the suit's communication devices. "Why won't you fucking die?"

"You think you can still escape, you mutant sack of shit?" the soldier yells back, his hatred disgustingly clear, as always.

Wikus is vaguely aware of Christopher seeking shelter behind a nearby shack, but has little opportunity to contemplate it further because Venter is opening fire upon him again. To his dismay, Wikus doesn't know how to activate the magnetic bullet-stopping field he witnessed earlier. But it doesn't matter -- the best defense is offense, right? Isn't that how it goes?

Screaming incoherently in a rage, Wikus shoots everywhere, anywhere, and sees Venter bleeding from some body part or another, but it's not enough to keep that damned man stalled for more than a few moments. He's loaded another rocket and aims it at the base of the robotic suit, its payload smashing on target and causing it to buckle. It crumples to the ground, dust billowing everywhere from the impact.

Shaken and injured, Wikus extracts himself from the twisted wreck and stumbles to his feet, coughing violently to expel airborne dirt from his lungs. He wonders what will happen when his they relocate in his chest. Despite the sweat and blood that obscure his vision, he spots the trapped, crushed corpse of Koobus beneath the extended arm of the suit. He can't help but feel a mix of relief and sick thrill at seeing the man dead, finally fucking _dead_.

He's not sure how long he stands there, but his stunned staring is abruptly interrupted by Christopher's hand -- _we're the same_ -- on his shoulder, jostling him just short of roughly.

"We need to go," he says, the clicks fast and desperate. "Now!"

Wikus wastes no time in following him, both alien and alien-to-be running in as much of a sprint as their sore and bloodied feet will permit. After what seems like an eternity of forcing his body to continue to endure this insane overexertion, Wikus reaches the pod that houses the control module, his chest heaving and aching in pain. CJ has already moved the mothership to hover above them, and the instant Christopher steps into the pod, he's entering commands and reconfiguring settings on so many holoscreen menus that Wikus has no chance of understanding what's being done until he feels it for himself.

The pod begins to rise, a bright light entering through the partially destroyed doorway and blinding Wikus' already abused eyes. He doesn't remember when he sat down, but the strength and stability of the wall against his half-transformed back is the most reassuring thing he's experienced in days. He spends a few minutes breathing until it's no longer quite so ragged, and only then does he glance over to his newfound companions: Christopher has mimicked Wikus' position and is sitting with his back to the wall, as well, in lieu of the pilot's chair. Wikus is sure this choice was made out of sheer exhaustion and not much else. He watches as CJ sits down beside his father and curls against his side for safety and comfort, and can't stop himself from smiling.

Wikus closes his eyes and focuses on the elevator-like feeling of rising towards the mothership, listens as a soft swishing and a harsh click with an air of finality to it announce the pod's successful docking, revels in the quiet stillness as everything comes to a halt. A few seconds later, the mothership's autopilot navigates them out of the Earth's atmosphere in a rush of speed and heat.

Not long after, Wikus is weightless.


	2. II

II.

Wikus unintentionally sleeps through his opportunity to witness the Earth from space, the ship's departure from its orbit swift and without sentimentality. When he wakes, he finds himself slumped on the floor of the control pod, his blood-soaked shirt plastered to the sores on his back. Groaning, he forces himself to stand, the small room lit only by the soft blue glow of its various monitors. The others are nowhere to be found; Wikus starts to panic, suddenly claustrophobic and terrified of these unfamiliar surroundings. Not only is he not in his own body anymore, but he's not even on his own _planet_, and he has no way of getting back without their help.

As he's trying to decide whether to start shouting for help or trying to take command of the navigation interface he used earlier, Wikus hears a noise behind him and startles, cringing instinctively. Thankfully, he quickly spots CJ prying open the damaged side door of the pod, shyly peeking through its opening.

"Come on!" he says, and Wikus finds himself obeying without hesitation. There's no benefit to refusing to cooperate, and he wants to get out of the cramped space of the pod, anyway. He trails behind CJ, Wikus' pace not nearly as enthusiastic as the young alien's as they walk through a long corridor lined with doors marked in the language he can only vaguely read. At one point he thinks he spots a gang symbol, but upon closer inspection he realizes he's misread it.

The corridor eventually opens into a larger, open room lined with various computer terminals. Christopher is seated at one of them, his long claw-fingers typing almost impossibly gracefully upon a foreign keyboard. His eyes are fixed intensely upon the paper-thin screen and its output, though he quickly looks up at them as they enter the area.

"You're up. Good," he acknowledges approvingly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Wikus blurts out before anything else can even cross his mind. "Do we have any food? Any... any cat food, you know, or whatever you've got." His stomach hurts so badly that it's giving him a severe headache, though it's certainly not the only part of his body causing him pain at the moment.

"We have food! Lots of it," CJ announces, reaching for Wikus' alien-arm and leading him to a small stockpile of cans and bundled packages. Wikus practically snatches a can of cat food from the stack, tearing it open and shoveling the puréed turkey into his mouth, swallowing without chewing. Not that his few remaining, broken teeth would be much help for that to begin with.

Christopher shakes his head 'no' at Wikus, hoping that CJ won't notice. "We do have _some_ food," he clarifies. "It was stored in the pod below our home for this day."

Wikus uses the pointed tip of his left hand's middle finger (he hates himself for cutting off his index finger) to scrape every last morsel from the inner rim of the can. Licking non-human fingertips feels inherently wrong, but he's been so ravenously hungry for so long that he hardly cares. "Is this all you have, then?" he asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Although Wikus is less than adept at recognizing prawn expressions, he's willing to bet that Christopher looks concerned. "Yes, that's all we have. We need to make it last as long as we can."

"What?" Wikus yells accusingly. "Are you fucking kidding me? You brought us up here just to starve? What the fuck, man? What are you--"

Christopher rolls his eyes. "It needs to last until I'm able to repair our machines that support food cultivation. I have no intention of letting anyone starve -- certainly not after twenty years of suffering through it."

"Oh." Wikus keeps his head down, eyes locked on the empty can, and feels very put in his place. "I didn't... I'm sorry."

"You could try trusting us," Christopher suggests, and Wikus swears he detects sarcasm in the click-speaking. He turns back to the computer and types for another few minutes, leaving Wikus temporarily alone with his thoughts. CJ fiddles with some sort of projection device -- was that the same one from their shack? -- and occasionally glances over towards him, but he says nothing.

Just as Wikus is about to go stir-crazy from the unwanted silence, Christopher speaks up again, although he remains facing the screen. "I'm sure you'd like to wash off that filth by now." He looks to CJ. "Do you remember which room it is?"

CJ nods, very proud of this. "I do! I know right where it is." He stands up and looks at Wikus again. "I'll show you." And with that, he's on his way out of the room. Wikus rushes to follow him, calling a quick "thank you for the food, really, thank you" to Christopher as he leaves. Once again he's led through the long corridor, then one doorway, and another, and a second corridor, and a final door, and then they've evidently reached the right place, because CJ stops in his tracks and gestures to the room they're now in.

"Here it is!" he announces, clearly pleased with himself that he's memorized how to get around the ship already. Wikus studies the new location he finds himself in, brow furrowed. It's not exactly like the shower he's got back at his house, not by a long shot.

"What do I...?" He lets the question trail off, not waiting for an answer before he moves forward to investigate. A small rectangular gel-panel is set in the wall, its texture similar to the navigation mechanism for the control pod. Wikus tentatively prods it and is immediately hit by multiple clouds of steam. Caught off-guard, he quickly pulls his hand back, his hair and clothing soaked and dripping reddish streams of water on the floor. He laughs nervously. "Well, that's, um. That's different, huh?"

CJ watches him, apparently highly amused by all of this. Wikus wonders if he's ever seen running water like this before, and tries his best to ignore the pang of guilt that hits him at that thought. "Hey, could you not look for a bit?" he asks, doing his best to peel away the tattered remains of his stolen shirt without dislodging too much skin in the process.

"Why?" CJ asks, unfazed.

"Because..." Wikus fishes for a reason that won't involve a lengthy explanation of privacy and personal space, both of which he also suspects the prawns were short on while stuck in District 9. "Because I'll play hide and seek with you for real when I'm done, how's that?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I promise." Wikus struggles to remove what's left of his pants, the waist not meant to accommodate his not-quite-human-anymore body.

"Okay!" CJ dashes off to an adjoining room, no doubt to amuse himself somehow in the meantime. Wikus gingerly picks off scraps of cloth that stubbornly cling to the blood and pus in his open wounds. Wincing, he pries the rest off and hesitantly reaches for the on/off panel once more. The steam hits him again, and to his surprise, he's able to adjust the temperature and pressure by shifting his touch on the gel. The heat soothes his aching muscles, and for the first time in his life, Wikus is infinitely thankful for the convenience of a simple shower. He's been desperate to wash off the grime for days.

He scrubs with one hand, although it's hardly necessary with the multi-directional setup of the steam vents and the force with which they spray, and removes the other from the panel when he's finished. Before he can wonder what to do about his ruined clothing, CJ reappears, holding a large blanket out to him.

"This was all I could find," he explains as Wikus takes it and wraps it around his shoulders, its fabric luckily reaching down to the backs of his calves. "I hope you like it."

Wikus smiles genuinely at him. "I do, thank you."

Warm, full, and clean, Wikus feels truly _better_ for the first time in what seems like forever.


	3. III

III.

Christopher is waiting for them when Wikus and CJ exit the shower room.

"Until we can stop your transformation, there's something else here you will want to use," he begins, pointing to one of the doors slightly further down the hallway. "Come with me and I'll show you."

Wikus does this, clutching the blanket tight around himself, CJ trotting ahead to walk beside his father. He wonders if the aliens already consider him to be one of their kind, or if they think he's a half-breed freak, too. Not wanting to throw himself into a bout of depression at the moment, Wikus forces himself to stop thinking along these lines.

The new room contains something that can only be a torture device of some sort, Wikus is sure of it. The wall is lined in several places with large strips of short spikes, the sections wide and tall enough to accommodate a body against it. Wikus shudders and wants to turn and run. Against his better judgment, he stays still and waits for an explanation from Christopher.

On cue, he speaks again. "I'm sure you noticed already, but it bears repeating. You're molting."

"I'm what?"

"Molting. I know there are creatures on your planet that do this, as well. It shouldn't seem that strange a concept."

Wikus parts his blanket-turned-cloak and turns to indicate the chunks of flesh that hang half-attached to his back. "This? _This _is 'molting'? This is fucking horrible, is what!"

Christopher sighs. "We don't enjoy the process either, you know. These--" he gestures to the sections of the wall, "--are what we use to help speed it along."

Skeptical, Wikus curls the blanket around himself again and steps closer to get a better look. Rather than spikes, it's more like rows of back scratcher tines, almost as if a huge sheet of Velcro was made of them instead of those tiny hooks. He touches a fingertip to one of the points, and finds it's not as viciously sharp as he'd expected.

"So I just...?" he asks, and Christopher nods. Wikus does his best to knot the blanket around his waist, low enough to expose most of his abused back. Bracing himself, he scrapes against the wall, several flaps of torn skin catching against the many rows of points. To his surprise, there's not as much pain as the first time he ripped off a piece in that shack. It reminds him now of dry skin, of callouses, of the satisfying discomfort of picking away at a huge scab. Though hearing sections of loosened skin and bits of human muscle wetly hitting the ground threatens to turn his stomach, he's mostly relieved to just be done with it. Within several minutes of careful scratching against the wall, most of it is gone, tattered remains of his skin still stubbornly remaining in a few spots. He reaches back with his alien hand -- that arm is longer -- to try to dislodge the rest of the bits when Christopher poses a question.

"Can I have some of that?"

Before Wikus can ask "of what," Christopher points to the skin-and-muscle scraps that lie in scattered heaps on the floor. Disgusted, Wikus shoots him a scandalized look. "God, what do you want that for?"

"I need tissue samples to grow meat for us," he replies matter-of-factly. Wikus fights back a wave of nausea, and Christopher resists the urge to roll his eyes at him for the nth time. "You're not the only one who's donating," he points out, lifting his forearm to show the human a spot on his arm that's missing its skin and a piece of muscle, as well. "If we had the luxury of using another source of muscle, I would, but we're the only living beings on this ship."

Wikus falters. "Y-yes, but..."

"Unless you'd prefer eating some of the vermin that are wallowing in the excrement on the lower levels."

The longer this conversation continues, the more Wikus is convinced he's going to vomit. "All right, do whatever you want with it. I don't need it, anyway."

Christopher kneels down and picks through the bits on the floor, finally selecting one that has the most muscle tissue attached to it. "Thank you."

Securing the blanket around his shoulders again, Wikus nods hesitantly. "No problem. What should we, um... What do we do with the rest of this?"

He's positive that Christopher smirks at him when he responds. "You can bring it into the control room and stack it with the rest of our food supply."

Wikus throws up.

"You can't afford to lose any calories," Christopher remarks, his words true if not particularly helpful, and turns to leave the room. Wikus wants a toothbrush more now than he ever has in his life. CJ looks at him sympathetically, but quickly moves on to gather up as much of the shed skin as he can carry. Reluctantly, Wikus scoops up the rest of it, refusing to look down at it as he brings the load back to the bridge with the young alien. They deposit the scraps next to the bundles and the cans, and Wikus wonders who -- if anyone -- is going to clean up the sick in the other room.

Christopher stands deep in thought at a counter on the far edge of the area, concentrating on measuring various liquids as precisely as possible before placing a vial in what seems to be a centrifuge, if Wikus remembers correctly from chemistry class. He walks over to the adult alien, looking at him quizzically. "What are you...?"

In the time it takes him to cross the room, Christopher has drawn the solution from the vial into a syringe remarkably similar to those on Earth. Without much in the way of warning, he shoves the blanket away from Wikus' shoulder, takes hold of his arm and injects it deep into his deltoid muscle. Wikus flinches, glaring at Christopher.

"What the hell are you even--"

"You could thank me, you know."

"For _what_?"

"What I just gave you will halt your transformation."

Wikus' mismatched eyes widen in shock, and he's instantly backpedaling and thanking Christopher, unbidden tears welling up and threatening to spill onto his still-human cheeks. "No more. God, no more. Just... oh god, I..." He takes a moment to sit down on the floor, overwhelmed. He buries his face in his hands and sobs uncontrollably in relief. His daily nightmare of fearing what part of him will deform itself next is over, finally over. Wikus feels lucky for the first time since his promotion.

Christopher laughs -- it has to be an alien laugh -- and smiles to himself. "I thought you'd appreciate that."


	4. IV

IV.

"This is for you."

"Hm?"

Wikus looks up from the piece of technology he's been contemplating -- he has absolutely no idea what it is -- and directs his attention to Christopher. The alien has abandoned his scavenged red vest and yellow shorts in favor of what must be their species' proper attire. It's a breathable fabric on both the shirt and pants (Wikus isn't sure if they count as capris), with fine mesh protecting his lungs while still allowing them to function. His shins have decorative plating, the style matching the forearm gauntlets he wears. Instead of the gaudy, bright colors he'd had on Earth, Christopher is now dressed in a muted storm grey with subtle burgundy accents. It's far more professional, lending him a look of class and dignity that no one in District 9 possessed. For Wikus, it's almost a subconscious shift; Christopher now seems to demand respect more so than before.

He shakes his head to snap himself out of it. "Okay, so what now? What's this?"

Christopher holds out several other articles of clothing to him. "Your old ones are ruined, aren't they?"

"Oh, right." Wikus takes the proffered clothes from him and examines them. His attire-to-be is similar, but not identical, to Christopher's, with a rich, deep blue instead of the red. The fabric is looser along the spine to allow the ridges enough room, and the front has additional sleeves for the extra set of arms on the aliens' abdomens. Wikus is extremely thankful that he won't be needing those.

"Thank you, Christopher," he says, grateful for the kindness. Wikus turns his back to his new friend, sliding the pants on while the blanket protects his privacy. Once they're securely fastened (with a magnetic closure, he notes), he lets the blanket fall from his shoulders, allowing him to pull on the shirt, too. They're too big -- that's a given -- but they're much better than walking around naked but for a half-assed cloak. Wikus laughs to himself at the mesh across his human stomach.

"I'm like one of those goddamn kids, y'know?" he jokes, fully aware that Christopher most likely doesn't know. The more he thinks about that, the more he feels helplessly isolated, cut off from his own culture for... would it still be three years? Trying not to dwell on it, he bends down to fold the blanket, pausing once he finishes. "I'll just put this back...somewhere, then."

Christopher shoots him and amused look. "You could return it to where it belongs."

"Yeah? Where's that?"

Without answering, Christopher reaches for Wikus' head and runs his fingers through his hair, parting it and feeling around. He tilts his antennae down and rests them on top of the human's scalp. Wikus is starting to get really fed up with Christopher doing things without warning and without explaining them. Just as he's about to comment on this, a sequence of images flashes through his mind's eye, leaving him reeling and confused.

"The _fuck_ was that?"

Christopher lifts his antennae away. "Those were the directions for getting to the bedrooms."

Wikus laughs uncomfortably, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, did you just... did you just put those pictures in my head? Just now?"

Christopher, to his credit, is an incredibly patient person. "Yes, I did."

"How?"

"With my antennae."

"Oh, with your antennae, of course. Bullshit," Wikus mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, hugging the folded blanket to himself. "You've got some technology you're using but not telling me about."

Christopher sighs. "There's no need to charge me with malicious intentions just because you aren't familiar with your own body."

"I never said--"

The alien raises his hands, frustrated but keeping calm regardless. "Enough. You need to get more rest. Take the blanket to the room I showed you and try to sleep. Perhaps you'll be at peace when you join us again."

Wikus glances around and finally notices CJ, who sits silent in his own new clothes, witnessing the entire debacle. The expression the alien child wears is one of upset, of disappointment, and Wikus is embarrassed for making a scene. He takes a deep breath, trying to settle down.

"Okay, maybe you're right. I'll go take a nap, or something." Wikus is admittedly too exhausted to do much more arguing for the time being. Maybe he should go sleep it off; his head is starting to hurt again.

As soon as Wikus turns to go, he hears alien feet running across the floor. He looks back to see CJ clinging to Christopher's leg, looking hurt. Wikus doesn't know what to say; he decides to keep quiet and just leave.

He follows the mental map that Christopher somehow transferred to him and finds himself in what must be the quarters for high-ranking crew. He briefly wonders if they're allowed to be there, but then acknowledges that since he's one of just three passengers on the ship, there's no one to reprimand him for staying there.

The beds -- if they can be called that -- are long, elliptical, almost like very curved bathtubs. Wikus peers over the side of one, and the small bubble-beads that fill it only add to the bathroom imagery.

"What...?" Wikus wonders aloud, reaching with his human hand to touch them. They're soft, smooth little things, like the ones Tania would get in gift baskets from her friends and let dissolve in the tub. He doesn't think these have soap in them, of course, but it's what they remind him of.

He considers just using his blanket-cloak and sleeping on the floor, but the hard, unforgiving surface doesn't look particularly appealing. Warily, Wikus lifts himself into the cocoon-like bed, scrambling awkwardly on the curved exterior before falling unceremoniously into the ball pit. To his surprise, they hold his weight. It's a bizarre feeling, to be suspended by a bunch of not-soap beads, but it's certainly not the strangest thing he's encountered in the last few days.

Wikus flips onto his side, sinking somewhat further into the spheres. He tries to keep his head above the surface, but soon realizes that there's enough space between the beads that he can breathe freely, and they're too small to inhale. The spheres trap his body heat, and the farther he burrows down, the safer and warmer he feels. Beyond tired, it's not long before Wikus is asleep.

He dreams that he's in his kitchen with Tania, morning sun bright as it illuminates the room.

"Wikus!" She smiles at him, her hair aglow in the sunlight. "Want to help me make breakfast?" It's a relief to hear her voice, to hear her say his name.

"Sure, baby."

He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove, turning the heat to high. Tania carefully drops four eggs into it, adding salt as she watches them sink. While they wait for the water to boil, they serve themselves coffee and warm up homemade sausages that Wikus' mother brought over the day before. When the eggs are done, they sit across from each other at the table, Tania sipping her coffee and Wikus digging in right away.

The eggs are delicious; there's something different about them this time, something crunchy to their texture -- not from the shell, he already peeled those off -- and he can't quite place it. Wikus finds himself asking Tania for one of hers, they're that good, would she be okay with sausage and coffee and maybe some of that bread they made the other day? She happily shares it with him, and the egg she scoots onto his plate is larger than it was before, green, without a proper shell. Too hungry to bother with it, Wikus stabs his fork into the egg and takes another bite. It's almost too heavy for the utensil to support, and larger still, despite him eating part of it.

"Where'd we get these eggs?" Wikus asks, concerned. Tania shrugs. When Wikus looks down again, he jumps back so suddenly that he knocks his chair over and falls to the floor with it, his plastic plate clattering to the tile with him. He struggles to right himself, eyes wide, entire form trembling.

Tania stands up and looks over the edge of the table, worried. "Wikus? What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer; his gaze is locked on where his plate landed. A mangled, cooked prawn fetus stares lifelessly back at him from the leathery remains of its egg. Wikus screams.

Still shrieking, he wakes with a start, heart racing and lungs desperate for air. He kicks off the bottom of the bed and pushes himself to the surface, shaking violently. Before he even has a chance to convince himself he's out of the nightmare, CJ is at his side, hugging him awkwardly. Wikus lets himself cry for fear, for missing Tania, for a body no longer his own, and does his best to (just as awkwardly) hug CJ back.


	5. V

this one's short, sorry. D:

* * *

V.

Wikus wakes up a second time from thankfully dreamless sleep, CJ snuggled against him where they've burrowed beneath the heat-retaining spheres. He yawns widely, stretches, and attempts to lift himself out of the alien bed. CJ makes a disgruntled clicking noise when Wikus moves, although he stays asleep.

Hungry, Wikus does his best to retrace his steps, using the memory-map to guide himself back to the control room. Christopher is hunched over the computer terminal, his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, his six fingers still typing away on the keyboard.

"How long've you been here?" Wikus asks sympathetically as he rummages through the small stockpile of food and tries to decide what looks the least revolting. If Christopher hears him, he doesn't acknowledge it, his eyes scanning the text that scrolls so quickly across the screen.

"Christopher...?" Wikus tries again, this time getting a response. The alien looks up, blinking several times at him before speaking.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." At least, nothing that hadn't already been wrong before the conversation started. "You look tired, is all." Christopher waves him off, leaving Wikus to chew thoughtfully, if somewhat unsuccessfully, on a piece of homemade beef jerky. He reaches up to scratch an itch on his scalp, dimly aware of a large scab he hadn't noticed before. Granted, he's suffered so many injuries recently that it's hard to keep track, but he feels like he would've caught this one. He picks at it, digging a human fingernail into the surrounding skin to ease it out, idly messing with it until a sharp, excruciating jolt of pain shoots itself through him.

"Fuck, ow!"

Christopher's more than used to hearing Wikus shout expletives and nearly doesn't pay him any attention. When he sees exactly where the human is scratching, however, he shouts in alarm.

"What are you doing? You'll hurt yourself!"

"What?" Wikus glances up, panicked. "What'd I do?"

Christopher looks like he's about to lose his patience, but he hurries over, anyway. He parts Wikus' remaining hair and sighs. "You've damaged your left antenna."

"But I don't have--"

Christopher shoots him a look. "How do you think I showed you that map earlier?"

Wikus reaches his human hand up again and feels around at the spot and comes back with blood on his fingertips.

"I thought that shot you gave me was going to stop all this!"

"It will take more than just a few hours to begin working. The transformation itself is not instantaneous; neither is slowing it down."

His voice has lost its anger, and when Wikus replies, it's quiet and defeated. "I'm... I'm not done then, am I."

Christopher shakes his head. "No. Although with luck, we can hope the antennae will be the last parts to change."

Curling in on himself, Wikus rests his cheek against his knee and stares blankly at the far wall. After a long pause, he mumbles, "How much damage did I do?"

Christopher doesn't answer his question. "I'll help you sterilize it." He wanders off in the direction of the small command module that lived beneath his home for so long, and when he returns, it's with the battered remains of a first-aid kit. Wikus winces as the alien dabs hydrogen peroxide against the spot, the liquid fizzing and bubbling against the spot to ward off infection.

Wikus tries again. "What's it look like? How bad is it?"

"I'm afraid you may have permanently impaired its growth. If your next shed goes well, it might recover to some degree."

Mentally cursing himself, Wikus wonders if he's forever doomed to be misshapen and mismatched.


End file.
